


count to three

by tanyart



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fingerfucking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 21:47:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12897522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: McCree and Genji go at it in a less than ideal place.





	count to three

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apocryphic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocryphic/gifts).



> McCree Week - Day 5: **Sensuality / Separation**

“So, you’re tellin’ me, there’s no way this could go wrong?” McCree asks, stumbling back with one hand planted firmly over Genji’s hip.

“There is every possibility that this can go wrong,” Genji corrects, and shoves McCree into a dark metal freight container filled with other dark metal things.

They don’t manage to close the shipping container’s door, and that, in some very tiny and very quiet part of McCree’s mind, is _bare_ minimum. Years of Blackwatch training and the experience of a hundred stealth missions are wasted on them. Every useful skill he’s learned goes out the window with embarrassing speed once Genji gets a hand down his pants. McCree almost buckles over with a little hitch in his breath, but he manages to steal back the air from Genji’s mouth with a kiss that puts a very nice dip in Genji’s posture.

They haven’t gotten many opportunities to be alone lately. McCree can attest it to Winston running too many drills with them, or too many unplanned missions and moving between bases. There are a ton of excuses everywhere, and McCree only needs to pick one or two.

He takes a peek at Genji’s expression—not all that hard to do, considering Genji’s face is currently attached to his—and finds Genji’s eyes closed, corners crinkled a way that suggests a smile or a laugh if it hadn’t been for Genji giving McCree a hungry kiss in return.

Well, seeing as Genji isn’t going to be the rational one here either, McCree can’t very well let that kind of enthusiasm go to waste.

He makes a half-hearted attempt to pull one of the container’s doors close, missing completely, and decides it’s not worth interrupting whatever Genji’s doing with his fingers between McCree’s legs. McCree makes a low noise in the back of his throat, one that causes Genji to quicken his motions and send McCree’s head spinning.

They’re both going to look like a couple of fools if someone catches them getting frisky in the middle of one of Talon’s secret warehouses. McCree can’t imagine pulling this kind of stupid stunt as an agent, and he doesn’t doubt Genji at the time would have even bothered entertaining even a hint of fraternizing with another person, agent or no. They had been too obedient and too damn good at—

Genji has McCree rocking back and forth into his hand, rubbing himself slick over Genji’s palm. McCree feels a light caress, biting back a sigh as Genji’s thumb slides a wet trail across his inner thigh.

“Turn around,” Genji murmurs, using the same hand to guide McCree’s hip to bump against a line of metal crates. He laughs when McCree immediately flattens himself down, stomach pressed to the boxes. “Good boy,” he teases, but his voice goes short and breathless.

So maybe McCree’s a different kind of obedient these days, and Genji a different type of devious good. It’s a fine thing neither of them are in Blackwatch anymore—all that fucking _trouble_ they would have gotten into. McCree has the distant thought they aren’t taking this specific mission as seriously as they should, but it’s the first one in months where they’re able to snag a few minutes to themselves, and apparently a dark shipping container is as good as it was going to get for them.

McCree puts his forehead to the crate, feeling his breath condense over the metal when he turns his cheek to it. He starts to feel a shade ridiculous, pants sliding past his ass, belt clanging too loud against the sides of the boxes, but Genji ruts against him from behind in small, desperate motions, and McCree has to bury his face into his arm to keep from groaning too loud.

It’s so good—it shouldn’t be, not this quick fuck in the middle of a mission—but usually Genji’s tastes run a little classier, a little more elegant than dry humping in a giant box filled with illegal weapons, but god _damn_ if it doesn’t make things a whole lot hotter in McCree’s dazed mind. He shuts his eyes, legs going shaky as Genji reaches back around to curl his slicked fingers inside McCree. A noise jumps out of him and suddenly McCree’s got one leg hiked up over a lower set of boxes, clumsy and banging his knees all over the metal.

His only saving grace is Genji being no better, crowding into McCree with his armor heated and threatening to let out jets of steam if it hadn’t been for Genji’s trembling efforts to keep them closed. McCree can feel the sweat build up on Genji’s forehead, pressing to the back of his neck, his ragged panting to keep his cybernetics in check.

Genji isn’t even saying anything to him, not his usual teasing or words of encouragement. McCree almost misses it, but this is another kind of dizzying satisfaction, that Genji is so worked up and frantic like him—or maybe Genji’s only keeping quiet to avoid alerting whoever’s guarding the warehouse.

Genji bends closer, fingers still moving, and he nuzzles at the collar of McCree’s shirt, strangely gentle before he bites down hard at McCree’s shoulder.

“Oh, fuckin’ Christ,” McCree swears, as quiet as he can, and it comes out as an embarrassing croak. He’s getting hot all over, matching Genji’s heat, and he’s so close now, almost to the point of moaning the things he shouldn’t, because he can already hear his thready voice echoing within the shipping container.

And then, incredibly, Genji stops moving.

“No, no, please, don’t—”

Genji’s free hand—the one _not_ inside McCree—reaches up to cover McCree’s mouth. McCree almost loses it right then and there, panting into Genji’s palm. He makes a move to bite it, but then Genji’s other hand—the one that’s _supposed_ to be undoing him to pieces—goes to McCree’s hip, holding him still with a good amount of force that McCree suddenly registers as not sexy, or, well, it _could_ be sexy, but combined with Genji tensing up and turning his head to look behind them, McCree gets the message, barely. In theory.

“Shh, shh,” Genji hisses in his ear. “I hear someone.”

Genji shushing him is almost mortifying enough to stop him cold, but McCree’s body hasn’t caught up with the rest of his brain. In a more practical and sensible world, McCree would ignore Genji’s warm hand over his mouth, his entire body pressing into his, and the rough quality of Genji’s voice vibrating at his neck—but as it goes, they’re the only things McCree becomes inexplicably fixated on.

McCree whimpers into Genji’s hand, and Genji, brilliant cyborg with his heart in the right place, does the mistake of tightening his hold. It feels horribly good.

"Jesse, please."

McCree shakes his head, suddenly realizing his vice grip on the crates could be put to better use removing Genji’s hand from his mouth. How Genji can go from horny as a dog to unflappable professional is a damned wonder of the world. McCree breathes, shaky, and tries to listen to the paced footsteps of the Talon guard, but his quiet gulps for air does him no favors, making his gasps sound louder to his ears. Genji covers his mouth again, thumb brushing over McCree’s cheek.

“Yes, I know, sorry,” Genji murmurs, lips pressing against the side of McCree’s damp temple in an apologetic kiss. “ _Shh._ ”

 _Too much._ McCree becomes alarmed enough to start twisting away from under Genji. Genji’s weight becomes less overbearing, and McCree allows his legs to slowly give up on him. He slides down to the floor, back now resting against the crates as he scrunches up to become a smaller, less noticeable pantsless trespasser hiding in the darkness.

Genji kneels down in front of him, settling between McCree’s legs. It’s a ballsy move, considering how close they can hear the Talon guard walking closer to their hiding spot. McCree can’t catch Genji’s whole expression, but the faint warehouse lights show traces of a wary frown and McCree doesn’t miss the way Genji holds up his forearm to ready his shuriken, just in case.

The shadows in front of them flicker, the light from the warehouse blinking as the Talon guard passes in front of their shipping container. McCree has to hold his breath, keeping his hands free so that he could pull out his gun.

Meanwhile, Genji’s ribbon brushes against his arm. McCree’s gaze drops to it for the quickest second, and then back up. He can’t help but notice the straight line of Genji’s shoulders and his profile in the darkness, and he hates himself a little for still being so keyed up and hyperaware of everything Genji does.

The Talon guard’s footsteps start to fade into nothing. Genji’s shoulders slump, and he turns to McCree, eyes sparkling despite his obvious relief. To McCree’s surprise, there’s a flash of sheepishness to his movements.

Genji lowers his forearm, hand thumping lightly against McCree’s chest. McCree can feel himself turn red, noticing how the fabric of his rumpled shirt catches on the still-wet material of Genji’s fingers.

“Before they circle back,” Genji says softly.

For some god-awful reason, McCree hadn’t expected Genji to stand back up, leaving him flustered on the ground.

“Can’t you get rid of ‘em real quick _then_ fuck me?” McCree asks, words tumbling out of his mouth before he can think twice.

A horrified silence fills the shipping container. McCree puts his face into his hands, feeling about a hundred levels of humiliated.

“...That is not my usual idea of foreplay,” Genji replies, very graciously. Even he sounds a bit shocked, but he dips back down to McCree’s level, leaning forward to place his mouth beneath McCree’s jaw. His teeth grazing over McCree’s skin shows a hungrier idea of what he’d prefer instead.

McCree angles his head, at first to get out of reach, but he can still feel the warmth radiating from Genji’s exposed skin and feel Genji’s eager hands trawling under his shirt. McCree’s heart starts to kick up again, though truth be told, it’s never really settled—and it seems neither has Genji’s.

“You’d think we’d learn our lesson,” he says, not very convincingly, not with Genji so quick to pick up where they left off. He grins around Genji’s quiet moan of satisfaction when he lifts his knee to press between Genji’s legs.

“I could be _very_ fast, this time around,” Genji says, boxing him in once more.

“Y’know, only you’d brag about that,” McCree says, but lets himself slide to the floor and pulls a very willing Genji down with him.

They close the shipping container this time around.


End file.
